Absolutes
by MJ-979
Summary: "Tomorrow she will pretend and he will watch her mask slowly crack until the night descends" The trio in the aftermath of the battle struggle to make life normal again.
1. Chapter One

Author's Note: I am making no guarantees as to the future of this story. All I know is that I felt like writing and so I am. I think it will probably follow a very non-linear fashion, going back and forth between events from DH and the aftermath before the epilogue. It will probably focus on Ron and Hermione with a little Harry thrown in now and again. Hope you enjoy it and review if you please. Thanks for reading.

MJ

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><p><span>June 1998<span>

A face hangs above her, stark white with dark circles around sunken eyes. A sickening grin spreads across dry lips forming silent demands to her deaf ears.

Her body is numb, unfeeling to the bruised bones and torn flesh and her will to fight is slipping away, a solitary feeling of helplessness settling in her mind.

The figure atop her is becoming more vicious in its demands and she watches as those silent lips form their last words. She braces herself for the blow; an unforgiving pain contorts her form and vents screams from her throat before dragging her down into an impenetrable unconsciousness.

Only a moment passes before she surfaces, her shrieks still pouring from a ragged throat. A warmth surrounds her followed by the calming tones of his voice, low in her ear. The screams die to whimpers then just heavy breaths.

She settles back into him and finally opens her eyes, drawing in the comforting sight of his small moonlit bedroom. He grasps her tightly, trying to quell her violent shaking, trying to absorb any of her pain. He'd take it all on himself if he could, anything to make her nightmares, her recent reality, disappear forever.

He lies back down, taking her with him, every inch of their bodies in the closest of contact. Her shakes have been replaced by the slow heaving of her chest as silent sob wrack her body.

Tomorrow she will pretend and he will watch her mask slowly crack until the night descends and they repeat this routine, always falling asleep to a river of tears bleeding through his shirt.

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><p>His nightmares are not of his own death. Nor of his mother or father or best friend, though he knows of the devastation he would feel losing any of them. His nightmares are of her.<p>

They come in flashes.

A bone white hand clutching a silver knife to her throat, the deep gash, welling with red, that knife left on her perfect neck, the weight of her unconscious body in his arms.

Every moment her life was at risk flashes before him when he closes his eyes, a mockery of each one of his failures with her.

So he lies awake, watching her disturbed sleep and waiting for inevitable nightmare to wake her with her own cries.

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><p><span>May 1998<span>

She woke with a start. Her wand at the ready, pointed at dark figures that were already fading from her memory. She squinted in the diffuse morning light, streaming in from a nearby window, and made a quick assessment of her surroundings. The boy's dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower. They'd come up here yesterday morning, as the festivities had carried on below in the Great Hall, and had immediately clamored onto one of the four-poster beds together, falling asleep within minutes.

Hermione looked back at the two boys beside her. Glasses askew over closed eyes and a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Harry looked peaceful for the first time in years. . His hand lazily clutched the newly repaired holly and phoenix feather wand against his chest, which rose and fell slowly in calm waves. Ron too wore a slight smile on his face. He slept with one arm stretched out along the space Hermione had been laying and the other against his side, wand also in hand. She took a breath, letting go of the nightmare, and laid down, fitting herself back into the space between the boys.

Facing Ron now she examined his face for signs of injury. Small cuts and bruises were scattered about his freckled pale skin but nothing horrendous. Black smudges of ash and dirt covered most of him, as herself and Harry she was sure. She reached over the small gap between them to rub at a particularly dark one across his nose without thinking. His eyes fluttered at the contact and she quickly pulled her fingers away. He wrinkled his nose and yawned before opening his eyes slowly and focusing on her face so close to his.

"You're here."

He reached a hand over and lightly brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

"I am."

They smiled at each other. He traced an invisible line with his fingers over her shoulder and down her arm to her hand, clasping her small one in his large palm.

"It's still over?"

She nodded solemnly. The question could have seemed odd but she knew what he'd meant. The previous day could have been a dream after the nightmarish year they'd had.

"And we're still here." A grin spread across his face as he said it.

"We are," Hermione responded, muffling a small giggle with her hand.

Ron's smile grew wider and he too tried to cover a laugh. They stared at one another, both trying desperately not to wake Harry with their restrained giggles, their bodies shaking with the effort.

Finally the tension was too much and Hermione dissolved into complete hysterics, bringing Ron right along with her.

Harry floated out of sleep as the laughter pierced his dream.

"Oi! What is going on?" He groaned and sat up, blearily staring at his two best friends rolling around on the bed.

"It's over!" Hermione choked out.

"And we're still here!" Ron managed a minute later.

None of them knew what exactly was so funny about their survival, but as Harry collapsed next to his friends in a fit of shared laughter they were, for once, only thinking of one thing, the present.


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note: Thank you for the alerts and subscriptions to this story. It's nice to know so many people want to continue reading it. Please feel free to review, I always love constructive criticism and of course praise :P. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

MJ

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><p><span>May 1998<span>

Voldemort's body crumpled to the ground amidst the ruins of the castle and the victor of an almost fifteen year long battle stood tall and strong above his defeated rival.

The cheers were deafening.

Hermione's first thought was to find Ron. As she scanned the room for the familiar red hair and lopsided grin he appeared beside her, his arms folding around her small body and pulling her as close to himself as possible. He smelled of dirt and sweat and ash but she buried her face into his shoulder breathing it all in deeply, thankful she could smell and touch and see him at all. Neither spoke a word but stood wrapped around each other while the chaotic celebrations began. Before long he pulled away, cupped her face in his hands and placed a small kiss on her forehead. She smiled, slipping her hand into his and together they took off toward Harry. They reached him before the crowd could descend, yelling nonsense congratulations and praise that neither could hear over the din.

The rest of the morning was a strange mix of euphoria and grief, for the end of Voldemort's reign and the death of so many loved ones. They mourned as the bodies of the fallen were laid together in preparation for burial, and they celebrated with food and drink and predictions of a brighter future.

As the afternoon sun began its descent into evening the trio slipped away from the celebrations, under the guise of the invisibility cloak, for some much needed rest.

They'd slept away the evening and well into the next morning. They were eventually disturbed by Molly Weasley, bringing trays piled high with delicious food and her explicit orders to each finish every bite. Accordingly to her motherly eye, they all looked_ too_ thin.

Once fed and cleaned up, Harry, Ron and Hermione finally felt they could face the masses again. There was so much to do, plans for the present and future, stories and secrets to be told. They spent the afternoon talking, more than any of them had ever spoken before. The mysteries of their last year were revealed to the loved ones who had worried most. The newly appointed Minister Shacklebolt arrived around dinner and plans for the next day's funeral ceremonies were made.

Then again, when the three grew tired of the constant attention they quietly disappeared to roam the castle.

The sun had begun to set over the grounds and streams of yellow light poured in through large holes and gaping glassless windows. The halls were strewn with debris, forgotten school supplies and the odd house coloured robe or crest from the students who had stayed to fight.

The trio wandered the halls quietly, just enjoying each other's presence, though occasionally bringing up happy memories of their years spent within these walls. Hermione sent a vexing glare at Harry as he recalled the year she'd partially turned herself into a cat with a rouge batch of polyjuice potion.

"Still get those cravings for tuna?" Harry teased and Hermione couldn't help but smirk.

"I bet you probably looked pretty cute as a cat," said Ron, "too bad you wouldn't come out of the loo." He laughed as she began to grumble something about them "getting in loads more trouble than her" and took her hand in his as an unspoken truce.

Harry stopped and watched his two best friends with a smile, as they meandered down the hall. Hermione turned and caught his eye. He nodded toward her and she looked down at her hand clasped in Ron's, smiled and then gave a sort of half shrug to Harry as if to say "I don't know, but I like it." And it was true. It wasn't as if she and Ron had found much time to discuss all that had happened between them but she felt a comfort in not defining or questioning it just yet.

"Hey, isn't this…" Ron started, breaking away and jogging down the hall a bit to a long stretch of empty wall. "The Room of Requirement," he finished. "Do you reckon it still works after, you know, the damaged we caused?"

"I don't know, I guess we can find out. What shall we ask…" Harry started but before he could finish the door to the room began forming on the wall before them. He looked to the other two but they shrugged.

Hermione was the first to approach and tentatively pushed open the door and peered inside. The room seemed empty except for one lone window, stretched from floor to ceiling, lighting the surroundings with a white diffuse glow. Hermione stepped inside, followed closely by the boys.

"Who asked for an empty room?" Ron grumbled. "You could have at least dreamed up some sandwiches or something…"

"We ate dinner not even an hour ago, Ronald."

"Yea well…" She didn't hear the rest of his response but was distracted by a large object draped in a sheet, settled in the far corner of the room.

"Lumos." Hermione cast a light toward the object as she moved toward it and pulled down the sheet, revealing a tall ornately golden-framed mirror. She recognized it immediately as The Mirror of Erised from Harry's description of it so many years ago.

There had always been a slight twinge of jealously when Ron and Harry had discussed the mirror in her presence. Part of her was curious as to what it would reveal to her, but she also knew whatever it was might set herself impossibly high standards for what she'd like to achieve. She expected to see a confident Hermione with a Head Girl badge and a handful of Outstandings on her N.E..

As she looked into the mirror's depths the image seemed to flow and ebb before two figures appeared beside her. Coming in to focus she recognized them as Harry and Ron, exactly as they looked today. Ron's arms were wrapped around her waist and the three of them were laughing.

"What did you find?" Harry's voice pulled her gaze away from the mirror as the boys came to join her. Ron stepped up behind her and slid his arms tight around her waist. She turned back to the mirror and found the image unchanged, a happy threesome who had survived years of darkness together and had come out virtually unscathed, except for one blemish. Peeking out from under her sleeve was a dark red mark that had not appeared in the mirror's image.


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: Wow! Thank you everyone for the wonderful support. So many subscriptions and some lovely reviews.

For today we are jumping back a little more in to actual events from DH that I'd like to revisit from other points of view. I have inserted actual quotes from the book for some of the dialogue, which are indicated by the _italics_.

Hope you enjoy chapter three and as always I appreciate any constructive criticism and of course praise. Thanks for reading!

MJ

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><p><span>Answers to commentsquestions:

Ansa88: I struggled for a while trying to decide whether or not I would use Hermione's scar from the movie in this story, as I like to keep as close to book canon as I can. To be honest when I first conceived this story I actually had to re-read parts of DH to figure out that it was indeed a creation of the producers/writers of the films and not JK Rowling. In the end I found it is just so in character of Bellatrix and, like you said, a great proponent of drama for the story that I decided to use it anyway, despite not being book canon.

Also, I'm not sure that I will get as far as their kids; I haven't decided yet how far this story will reach into their lives.

Thanks for the great review!

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><p><span>March 1998<span>

She watched as Ron struggled against his bindings, desperate to get to her, all the while being forced from the room by the savage werewolf.

"HERMIONE!" His calls echoed down the hallway, bulleted with Greyback's growls and warnings.

He had offered himself in her stead and she had winced as his pleas were met with a slap across the face.

A pull against her hair snapped her to and in seconds she was on the floor being dragged to the centre of the room. Fingernails burrowed into her scalp as she was hauled abruptly upwards to face her captor.

"Filthy little Mudblood." Bellatrix's putrid breath filled Hermione's nose as she pushed her face closer. "I'm only going to ask you once, where did you get that sword?" Her voice was surprisingly calm for a woman who had only moments ago had Fenir Greyback on his knees. Hermione stared back into the coal black eyes above her silently. "WHERE!" Bellatrix's grip tightened on Hermione's hair and she wrenched her head backward. "ANSWER ME!"

Hermione grimaced a little and glared back silently for a moment before breathing in and spitting in Bellatrix's face. There was a shriek and Hermione was flung to the floor.

"HOW DARE YOU! YOU WRETCHED, THIEVING MUDBLOOD!" Bellatrix stood above Hermione, looking mad as ever. She wiped her face and pointed her wand threateningly toward the girl. The faint cries of Ron yelling Hermione's name could be heard from below them. Bellatrix grinned maliciously, cocked an ear and stepped toward Hermione. "Your precious Potter and that blood-traitor Wesley can't save you now my dear. You might as well tell me what I want to know." But Hermione only shook her head and watched as Bellatrix's face contorted into a vicious glare. "CRUCIO!"

The curse hit with a white-hot stab through her middle and spread rapidly to the very edges of her body. Every bone felt warped and buckled, every muscle seemed stretched and torn apart. Her head reeled; the room spun around her and her ears rang with the screams released from her throat.

When Bellatrix finally released her from the curse it felt like hours had gone by. Pain radiated in every nerve of her body, though she felt better than seconds before.

"_I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"_ Bellatrix brandished the sword above her, swinging it down to place against Hermione's throat.

"_We found it – we found it…"_ Hermione found herself saying. She didn't want to give up their only weapon against the Horcruxes, but what to tell the deranged woman above her? The pressure of the sword against her neck only increased and Bellatrix raised her wand again. Hermione's eye grew wide, _"PLEASE!"_ she begged but the curse had already been cast and another scream ripped through her throat.

"_You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"_

There was no chance to answer before another wave of agonizing pain wracked her body. Her vision swam and began to fade into black. Seconds later she surfaced again to a weight on top of her body. The pale, sunken face of her torturer hung above her own. _"What else did you take?"_ she hissed. _"What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear I shall run you through with this knife!"_ A cold steel was run across her cheek and down her neck but Hermione couldn't form the words in her head. _"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"_

Hermione felt like she was floating, the pain, though still unbearable, had dulled the slightest bit and her ears had gone deaf to the screams that poured from her ragged throat. Then, very quiet, she heard a voice. It was barely above a whisper but it was there and she recognized it as Ron's, saying nothing but her name.

"_How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"_

Bellatrix's voice pulled her out the dream, her only salvation in the darkness.

A sob escaped her mouth as her defenses began to break down. _"We only met him tonight! We've never been inside your vault…"_ What to say next, the truth would reveal and end their mission all at once. "We…it…_it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"_ The words tumbled from her mouth before she'd even processed them herself.

"_A copy? Oh, a likely story!"_ Bellatrix sounded incredulous at the thought.

Hermione steeled herself for the next blow and found her mind drifting toward thoughts that death would be better than another round with the Cruciatus Curse. But the pain did not come. Instead a low voice instructing Malfoy to retrieve the goblin from the cellar. A shadow appeared over Hermione as Bellatrix swooped down over top of her again.

"You'd better not be lying to me," she hissed in Hermione's ear. Out of the corner of her eye a glint of something silver, Bellatrix's knife. She waved it above Hermione's face and sneered. "Let's have a little fun shall we?" She wrenched Hermione's left arm out straight and bent over it closely. A second later the cold steel pressed into her skin, slicing it open effortlessly.

"PLEASE!" Hermione sobbed but Bellatrix only continued carving into her flesh. Wracked with sobs and shaking from the pain she felt herself sinking away, blackness fell around her and her body numbed.

The darkness persisted but occasionally sounds and feelings from the world above crept through, a sharp pain against her throat, Bellatrix's shrieks of horror and best of all the voices of Ron and Harry. Then, a pressure all around her, which suddenly lifted, leaving just the smell of salt and the sound of the sea.


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: Another chapter done! Thank you everyone for the kind reviews.

This chapter continues in the sort of "flashback" setting of the previous chapter.

I know a couple of you have been a little confused. Basically I intend to jump back and forth between events from after DH and new perspectives of events during DH (or other books possibly?) that relate in some way to the "current" situation. For instance chapter 3 and 4 were prompted by the mention of Hermione's scar at the end of chapter 2 and delved into the "back story" we didn't see in the books.

I hope that helps clear some things up and I hope you stick with my story. I will be getting back to some post DH events very soon.

Also the dates at the beginning of every chapter should help you place whether the chapter is past or present. I'm using the timeline for Deathly Hallows as created by the HP Lexicon.

MJ

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><p><span>Response to Comments and Questions:<span>

rhmac12: I hope you liked my own interpretation of the scene.! Thanks for reading!

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><p>March 1998<p>

He had taken up vigil at her bedside in the small room at the top of Bill and Fleur's Shell Cottage. Three hours, twenty-two minutes and four seconds had gone by since they'd arrived, he counted, and she was still unconscious. Her face was pale and gaunt, skin cold and dry to the touch. If it weren't for the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her shallow breaths he'd think she was gone.

They'd appeared on the beach amongst crashing waves. He kneeled in the wet sand, clutching her body against his bracing them against the water. Blood flowed, from where he didn't know, and left puddles and trails in the sand. A head of red hair appeared over the dunes in the distance and rushed toward them.

"Ron! What's going on?" Bill called to them as he approached. He stopped short as he caught sight of Hermione, limp in Ron's arms. His little brother sat helpless on the ground rocking the girl back and forth, a hand placed over her cheek and his face buried in her hair as whispered desperately into her ear.

"Wake up, please. I don't know what to do 'Mione." He looked up at Bill, his face wet with salt water not from the sea around them. "I don't know what to do," he repeated. "Please! Help me!"

Inside the cottage Fleur got to work in the small bedroom where'd they laid Hermione. She mixed several potions, tipping them down her throat easily, and then started looking for the source of the blood that covered both Ron and Hermione's clothing. Fleur removed Hermione's sweater, revealing several deep gashes on her inside left arm. She reached for a nearby metal bowl, alternating wiping away the blood and casting healing charms to staunch the bleeding.

Ron stood in the doorway, looking on helplessly. He could hear a commotion below, indicating Harry was back. He looked down the hall, hoping to see his friend appear at the top of the stairs. He needed something, someone more familiar than this.

A gasp from Fleur turned his attention back to the room and he rushed forward to the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?"

Fleur sat motionless on the edge of the bed, Hermione's arm grasped in her hand. "Oh Mon Dieu!"

"What is it!" Ron demanded and stepped forward to peer over Fleur's shoulder.

He recoiled slightly at the sight. Angry, ragged, blood filled letters carved deep into Hermione's flesh spanned the length of half her forearm, spelling out the most repulsive word. MUDBLOOD.

Ron let out a cry of angst and slammed his fist down on the table next to him, cracking the wood under his force. "BLOODY HELL!"

"Ronald Wesley! Get control of yourself, please!"

Ron looked up, surprised to see the usually calm and delicate features of his brother's wife appear so angry. His face flushed at once, ashamed of the violent outburst.

Fleur's face softened and she spoke once again in the smooth, gentle tones he was accustomed to. "You need to stay calm, mon chou. For 'er," she gestured toward Hermione. "She needs you to be strong for 'er right now, not seeking revenge. You will 'ave your time for zat soon." She placed an almost motherly hand on Ron's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "She will not wake for sometime, come, eat something and rest."

Ron shook his head. "Thank you, but I think I'll wait here." He took a seat next to the bed. Fleur finished bandaging Hermione's arm and left quietly.

Ron stared determinedly at Hermione, watching for any signs of life beyond the movement of her breath. Nothing. He sat back in his chair, frustrated and impatient. He didn't know what to do, how to help her in anyway and so he began talking. At first mostly to himself, chiding words against his actions, laments about not being quicker, cleverer and just down right better over the past few months. Soon he was no longer talking to himself but to her, apologies for things said or done years ago poured from his mouth. Stories of happier times spent as children together. And promises of better days to come, provided they all came out of this alive.

"I know I've been a stupid, rotten git to you sometimes, 'Mione. Which is why you've got to hold on, okay? I need to make up for all the stupid, rotten git things I've done. And that's going to take years!" Without even realizing it he'd taken her hand and was caressing it softly with his thumb. "Please, you've got to wake up. Harry needs you. I need you." He watched her for a moment longer before laying his head in his arms on the edge of the bed. It only seemed like seconds later when he was woken by a slight ruffling of his hair.

Her fingers grazed his head slowly and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly at the thought of what that meant. He raised his head to look at her. She was still chalk white and weak but her brown eyes bore back into his blue ones, a sight he'd missed over the last few hours.

"How do you feel? Does anything hurt? Do you want anything?" Words tumbled from his mouth in an effort to make himself useful.

She shook her head slowly and looked down at her bandaged arm. Dots of blood had already soaked through the gauze. She began to unwrap the bandages with the purpose of surveying the damage and wrapping clean dressings over whatever wound lay beneath.

"'Mione, wait," Ron started but he was too late. She had pulled away the last layer and was staring silently at the dark red word etched into her skin.

"Oh." It was all she said before she made herself busy, reaching hurriedly for the clean dressings and scissors on the bedside table. He watched her try desperately to hold it together as she pulled a length of fabric from the roll to cut. Her hands began to shake and she lost her grip on the scissors.

Ron reached over and put a hand over hers. "It's okay to cry you know, you've been through a lot."

"No it's not, Ronald!" She snapped, her eyes meeting his. "I'm not giving _her_ that satisfaction!" She looked down again, clearly still struggling but continued with the bandages anyway.

"Let me help," he said, brushing her hands away and gently taking the gauze from her, carefully covering up the angry letters. She sighed, exasperated but too tired to bother arguing with him.

A knock at the door dissipated the tension between them. Charlie appeared in the doorframe, a forlorn expression on his face.

"Dobby's dead," he announced. "Harry's been digging him a grave up the hill. I think you should come."

A heavy feeling of guilt washed over Ron. All this time spent up here and he'd never thought to check on Harry. "Of course," he said. "We'll be right down."

An hour later the trio stood in front of the makeshift gravesite, the last three left at a hasty funeral service. The first of many to come.


	5. Chapter Five

Author's Note:

And we're back! Another chapter ready for you all to read. Thank you as usual for the lovely reviews, and as usual I always appreciate more comments, praises and constructive criticism.

Today we're back in the "present" to explore some more about the after effects of the war.

This chapter is a little long compared to many of my other ones and as my profile says I never make guarantees, so I don't expect every chapter to be as long. I just write until I feel it's done.

I hope you enjoy!

MJ

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><p><span>May 1998<span>

She studied him carefully from the doorway to the dormitory. His shoulders were hunched, clothed in the satiny black of new dress robes, hair still as if he had just rolled out of bed.

He sat on the edge of his bed, parchment and quill in hand, hastily scrawling something, only to scratch it out again, brow furrowed in frustration.

There was something about that look she'd always been drawn to. Maybe it was six years of watching his features fall into that state as he struggled with their homework assignments. She'd spent more time than she'd care to admit observing him as he worked. Taking note of his mannerisms, learning when to step in and help and when to leave him be.

He gave a heavy sigh and tossed the paper aside. Hands running through his hair as he settled his head within in them, a sure sign of defeat.

She cleared her throat, calling his attention.

"Hermione," he stood up quickly and faced her, a slight red and a wide-eyed expression creeping over his face.

"Sorry. Did I startle you?" she asked, though she knew she had, intentionally, to get his mind away from the exasperating parchment.

"No. I'm….fine….good actually…."

She narrowed her eyes a bit and glanced at the paper.

"It's for—"

"The funeral. I know. They asked you to speak about Fr—," she faltered for a moment; his name hadn't been spoken since. "…It will be… nice."

Ron shook his head furiously. "I can't do it. Everything I write is rubbish."

"I'm sure it's wonderful, don't worry—"

"No! You don't get it Hermione, I have to talk about him and I don't know what to say! He was my brother, I watched him die in front of me… and I can't think of a thing to say about him. What kind of brother is that?" He backed away from her and sat in the windowsill, head once again in his hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.

He was grieving for the first time since it happened. There wasn't time before. The chaos of the battle and the triumph of their victory had drawn them into an impenetrable circle that was only now, the morning of the funeral, beginning to crack.

Hermione moved toward him and sat down, carefully placing an arm around his shaking shoulders. This was not a time for words, years of friendship with Ron had taught her that. So they sat quietly, the only sound an occasional gasp for breath as Ron mourned the loss of a brother. She gazed out the window, unfocused, memories of the last moment she had seen Fred alive pervading her mind.

_It was turmoil. Spells flying every-which-way, explosions, bodies falling. They had come upon Fred and Percy in the heat of the battle, happily fending off Death Eaters and joking between them, when, the air exploded. Hermione's ears rang and her vision swam before her. The group had been scattered about the corridor in the blast. As the dust settled she rose and found the others, huddled together a few feet away. _

"_No — no — no!" someone was shouting. No! Fred! No!"_

_She surveyed the scene, Percy clinging to a lifeless Fred Weasley, Ron kneeling, dumbfounded and numb. A tragic vignette that only lasted seconds before the next onslaught of curses hurled themselves into the centre of the group. _

_The next moments were a blur. She was pulled roughly out of the fray, Fred's body was moved and then suddenly Percy was off down the corridor to avenge his brother's death. _

_Hermione felt Ron struggle to move past her and quickly took charge, pushing him forcefully behind a nearby tapestry. _

"_Ron!" he struggled against her, desperate to follow Percy in his quest. "Ronald Wesley! Listen to me — LISTEN RON!" _

"_I wanna help — I wanna kill Death Eaters —"_

His taste for revenge and adrenaline from the battle had masked any feelings of grief and sorrow he felt over Fred's death. And now they'd bubbled to the surface, unhindered by the multitude of emotions he had felt over the past few days.

Hermione waited patiently for his breath to calm and eyes to dry. Their hands had intertwined without much thought and though he was much larger he leaned into her and she supported him, their heads resting comfortable together, both now staring out the window.

The grounds below were dotted with black-cloaked figures. Thousands had arrived at the school for the services, to mourn family, friends and the wizarding world as they had known it.

The door to the room creaked open behind them and a familiar head stuck through the crack.

"Ron, we've—" Harry started. "Oh, Hermione, you're here too." He had obviously thought he'd interrupted something more intimate.

Ron stood up and took a moment with his back to Harry to wipe his face on his sleeve. "All set are we?" He voice was still a little heavy and eyes red.

Harry threw a confused glance toward Hermione, but she only shook her head and mouthed "Later."

"Well, I'll meet you down in the common room. Don't be too long!" Harry left quickly, sensing the need for a few more moments alone in the dormitory.

"Thank you," Ron said simply, his eyes on the floor.

Hermione strode across the short distance between them and slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him fiercely.

"No doubts, okay?" she asked looking up at him. "You helped defeat Voldemort. This—" she gestured to the crumpled parchment, "—will be simple. It may sound little cliché but just speak from here." She placed a hand against his chest over his heart.

He nodded quietly, the slightest smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"Why don't you go meet Harry, I'll be down in a minute." Hermione stood on tiptoe and gently kissed his cheek before watching him disappear down the stairs.

She sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. A dry sob escaped the lump that had been growing tense in her throat for days. Like Ron, time to grieve had been sorely limited. Unlike Ron, she felt a pervading sense of guilt surrounding her feelings. She had lost some good friends and allies, some of her health and the last year of her youth, but she had not lost a brother. Her family was still intact, her closest friends were scathed but alive, to feel anything but relief seemed selfish when she compared her situation to Ron's and many others who had lost a family member. So she had been staving off her emotions, trying to be a support for Ron and the other Weasleys, while the tension inside her built and now threatened to bubble over.

"You will not cry," she demanded out loud. A single tear poised itself on the edge of her eyelid. "Oh this is just ridiculous, Hermione!" She quickly wiped at her eyes. "You are better than this, just get over yourself and go downstairs and join the others." Another tear formed. She huffed impatiently at herself and stood up, striding defiantly to the mirror. She pulled up her sleeve roughly and opened her scarred arm toward her reflection. "Is this what you're crying over?" she asked her image. "This is nothing. Just letters. It means nothing! As does this—" she brushed a finger over the thin red line carved along her throat. "You are perfectly—" There was a knock at the door and Ron's voice came from behind it.

"Hermione?" The door creaked open. "Who are you talking to?"

She shook her head. "No one, I didn't say anything." She slowly pulled down her sleeve and edged away from the mirror.

"We should get going, it's going to start soon."

He held a hand out toward her and she let herself be gently pulled away, once again sealing her emotions deep within.


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: So it's been a really long time but I felt the urge to write again so here's another chapter. I feels like it may be a little rushed but hopefully I will be able to lengthen some things out in the next one. Thanks for reading again!

MJ

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><p><span>May 1998<span>

Four white marble pillars and a glistening gold dome made up the large mausoleum that now housed the brave witches and wizards who had fought valiantly and lost their lives in the battle. Their names were etched into the stone steps along with hundreds of messages of love and hope, left by the survivors and their families.

Thousands had gathered for the final stage in the years long battle with darkness, and now stood before the newly erected beacon of hope. Harry, Ron and Hermione were front and centre of the crowd along with the other survivors and heroes of the battle. They listened to the minister talk of new hopes and dreams for a peaceful wizarding world, families remembering the lives of loved ones, friends recounting days of happiness spent on the now ruined Hogwarts grounds. Everyone was given their time to say what they needed, and when he was ready Ron stepped forward and spoke of Fred.

"Fred Weasley was…." Ron glanced up from his paper and looked around nervously. His mother was in the front row, beaming up at him, tears already forming in her eyes. The rest of the crowd looked just as expectant, ready for some brilliant words of remembrance and wisdom to flow forth. He was about ready to give up when Hermione caught his eye. She sat next to Harry, dressed in long black formal robes, her hair tamed slightly from its usual chaos. She smiled up at him and placed a hand over her heart. Reminding him of their previous conversation.

"Ronald, are you okay?" Kingsley had moved forward and was whispering in his ear.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he whispered back, though it was amplified across the crowd by the Sonorus charm each speaker had used to be heard clearly. "I'm fine, really," he said again, turning back toward his audience and letting his parchment fall to the ground. "My brother Fred," he began again, this time his gaze meeting the crowd's, "was a right git sometimes." The audience began to buzz quietly. "I remember when I was a kid, he put a spell on my toy broomstick so that it would only fly backwards. I fell off and broke my arm and had to spend the whole Easter break in bed." Ron looked down and caught the perplexed and somewhat angry gaze of his mother. But it was George's smile that made him press on. "Yeah, Fred could be an awful brother but he was a good friend. He always had your back and would sacrifice himself in a second to keep you from getting in trouble. And that's what he died doing, protecting his friends and family because he loved them. That's what everyone one of these people here died for, for our right as witches and wizards to love and be loved. That's what won this war and that is what is going to keep things like this from happening again. I loved my brother Fred and he loved me and that love will never be forgotten. "

And with those last words there was a flash of fire in the sky. A crimson and gold bird soared overhead, gliding elegantly in circles. Before the crowd began to buzz with excitement a hush spread throughout, revealing a soft melody. It was just barely audible to the ear at first but slowly the music grew louder until it echoed off the surrounding mountain ranges and across the grounds. It was the most beautiful sound they had ever heard and as it rang out above them a sense of hope settled in the hearts of every spectator. And when it was over there was silence, nothing but the lapping of the lake against the shore, the birds in the trees and the wind. The sound of peace.

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><p>Hours later as another round of festivities wound down in the Great Hall, Hermione found Ron lying quietly at the edge of the lake. Light clouds, tinted silver by the moon's light slowly moved westward by the breeze. Hermione pulled her shawl up around her shoulders, having since changed from her formal robes into a pale pink dress Molly had sent out for, for the occasion. She carried the cream coloured pumps she'd worn all day in one hand, allowing her feet the chance to rest and giving her a stealthy, silent approach to Ron.<p>

He was staring up into the sky, trying and failing to find the constellations he had supposedly learned in astronomy. He didn't hear her arrival so when the warm, soft hand ran down his arm and into his own hand he was initially startled. His free hand twitched toward his wand for a split second before he recognized the familiar mass of curls on her head and the freckles across her nose.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, I shouldn't have snuck up on you. I do that sometimes too." She gestured to her own wand, stowed away in the pocket of her dress. "You're speech was…." She trailed off searching for the right word.

"Gushy?"

"No, it was from the heart. It was perfect. Fred would be proud."

He blushed slightly and looked out over the water. "I meant it, what I said about, love. Harry's mum loved him and it saved him, everyone. It gave people something to fight for in this war. And…" now it was his turn to fumble for the words, "it brought me back to you." His eyes met hers, gauging her reaction.

"Are you saying – " she started but he interrupted, grabbing her hands in his, his heart racing.

"Look, I don't want to say things or do things too early or anything... I just…I know I feel something. Part of it is love… I love you… like a mate…" he stumbled over his words, knowing that they weren't coming out right, and tried to start again. "Not like a mate but…Okay, I love you… and Harry, always have. You're my best mates so that's not going to change. But with you there's this other part, I don't know if it's love too, but it maybe, kinda, sorta could be and I want to be able to find out… with you…" His words disappeared and he was left staring in her eyes waiting for her response.

"Oh Ronald, you do have a way with words" she laughed as she took his face in her hands. "I maybe, kinda, sorta, could possibly love you too."

He closed his eyes and let her words wash over him as a smile crept over his face. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her close.

"We don't have to define it, we can just let it be for now," she said into his jumper.

Ron looked down at the mass of curls snuggled up against his chest. "Well, well, Miss Hermione Granger doesn't want to define something? What is the world coming too?"

"I... We aren't the same people we were last year, Ron," she said, facing him again, suddenly serious "or even two months ago. We're changed."

He nodded in agreement and slowly leaned in toward her. Their bodies were connected, legs intertwined, her small frame fit perfectly up against his. His hand came up and gently brushed her hair back from her face then stroked a thumb across her cheek before settling at the base of her neck. She closed her eyes and reveled in the touch, one she'd only dreamt about before. Their foreheads pressed together, warm breath filling the small gap between them. They wanted to take their time, a concept they'd been lacking for the last year. No time to explore each other and the possibilities. His other hand ran slowly down her spine over the silky fabric of her dress, leaving a tingling shiver in its wake. Her hands spread over his chest, kneading into the soft, worn in wool of his jumper.

"We are changed and I wouldn't go back to before if it means this would never happen," he whispered before closing the tiny gap between them.

Their lips met, softly, an almost an imperceptible touch at first until they both moved to deepen the kiss. It wasn't like their first. The one filled with passion and heat and urgency in the midst of battle. This one was steady and balanced. It was full of questions and possibilities. And it represented bond that, though not defined yet as they'd agreed, was bound to last a lifetime.


End file.
